


Did Y'Ever?

by SouthronWildling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward First Times, Boys Kissing, Eventual Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Just the Tip, M/M, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, figuring stuff out, underage fumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-13 16:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21497251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/pseuds/SouthronWildling
Summary: Five times Harry and Neville sought each other out, and one time they... well.Underage warning because of some canoodling/petting/etc before they were sixteen. Nothing coerced or too terribly explicit, before they're old enough.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter
Comments: 42
Kudos: 205





	1. After the Feast. After Quirrell. Not Quite 12

**Author's Note:**

> Like I really need yet another work in progress, but this plot bunny hit me and I couldn't resist. I'm a sucker for a rare-pair on a good day, so this had me writhing. A 5+1 for Harry and Neville, as they both come to terms with their sexuality and mutual attraction. Should be uploaded in totality by 11/25/19. Load me up with comments; I don't work in this fandom and if I'm screwing up their voices, I want to know so I can fix it. Or if you like it, let me know that too. It's the salt on my chips; the naan to my curry; the mint to my chocolate chip. Well damn, now I'm hungry.

Harry woke gasping, sitting up in his bed in the Gryffindor tower, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and his shirt to his chest. The images of Quirrell, and of Voldemort's potato-face speaking from the back of his head, bounced back and forth in his skull, and he stared at the closed bed-curtains as he drew one breath after another, trying to calm down, trying to connect with now rather than then, with something tangible even if he didn't know he knew that word.

"Harry?"

A plump hand drew one curtain aside, and Neville's round face appeared in the gap.

"S'alright," Harry gasped. "Nightmare, you know. I'm alright." He kept drawing one deep breath after another.

"Everyone else is asleep," Neville whispered as he parted the curtains and climbed onto Harry's bed. He drew the curtains closed again and then whispered, waving his wand as he did. _Muffliato_, Harry realized, and he raised his eyebrows at Neville, a little impressed.

Neville shrugged. "Can't really have privacy in a dorm, otherwise, you know?"

"Still, that's what, third year? I don't-"

"I managed it at beginning of term. I didn't want anyone to hear me... you know." Neville's face went slightly pink. He drew his legs in, sitting cross-legged by Harry's hip, and his striped pyjamas seemed weird against the jut of his ankle bones that folded underneath. He laid his wand down closer to the foot of the bed.

"D'you ever get scared?" Harry asked, hesitantly. "Like, more than scared of... detention, or bad marks, or I dunno, Snape? or Him? Like so scared you can't breathe?"

Neville sniffed, rolled his bottom lip a bit with his bucked front teeth, hitched his rounded shoulders a little.

"Sometimes I think I wouldn't, if my folks were still around. If Gran hadn't raised me. But, she did. And mum and dad are... and so yeah. I know what nightmares are like. Can I?" he asked, with a little indefinite hand wave upwards towards Harry's pillows, but Harry understood and scooted over, allowing room.

Neville was a warm weight beside him, once he was under the covers and with his head on the pillow next to Harry's. Harry could smell peppermint and parchment and something that reminded him vaguely of the Forbidden Forest, something mossy and clean and herbal. His round face was a little closer than Harry was used to, but somehow, in the dead of night, it wasn't a bad thing, and he could feel his toes catching on the turned hem of Neville's pajama bottoms and the graze of skin, Neville's foot against his instep.

"Harry?" Neville's voice was quiet, hesitant.

"Hmm?" he answered, still sleepy, closed off from the nightmare but not really completely awake, more than willing to stay here in this warm cocoon of soft bed and warm blankets and warmer Neville beside him, where everything felt safe and kind and protected.

"Did y'ever think... I dunno. Nevermind," Neville said. But while his words were pulling away, his arm was sliding under Harry's neck, and another arm was over him, drawing him closer, and Harry burrowed into the warmth that was offered. It was warm and safe and Harry slid into softer dreams with an ease that had never happened before.

But when he woke, he was alone in his bed, and it was time to pack. The train back to London would be leaving in an hour.

'He really is really brave,' Harry thought, as he grabbed his things and shuffled off to the showers. 'I wouldn't have gone to him.'


	2. Midnight Conversations. Thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Dementors aren't scary enough...

The fourth time they'd shared a bed, the third time during second year, Harry had left his bed to seek out Neville.

Always before, he'd awakened from a nightmare to find Neville either just outside his bed curtains, or already perched on his bed, sitting cross-legged near his knees. That last time, Harry had woken sweaty and shaking and with his fingers and feet going numb-tingly from hyperventilating, and he'd found himself pulling back the blankets and slipping between the sheets of Neville's bed before he even knew what he was doing. Neville hadn't even woken properly. He'd pulled Harry in close with his hands, looping his arms around Harry with artless ease, and murmured something about pixies before releasing a little grunt and wiggling his shoulders a bit and relaxing again. Harry had fallen back asleep almost as quickly. They'd snuggled together, buried in sheets and coverlets and surrounded by pillows, and it was a warm, soft place to be before reality reasserted itself. A quick poke to the ribs woke him just before dawn, a shared grin with the other boy, and he was back in his own bed again before Ron or anyone else could wake up. 

They didn't discuss it. It was just something that happened. Sometimes. 

Classes, and conversations with Ron and Hermione. Classes, and conversations about Sirius Black. About the Grim he kept seeing. About his suspicions, and trying to figure out mysteries, and the Dementors all over the place, and it was all so terrifying. And at night, he laid in his bed with the curtains closed and tried to sleep, and couldn't, and listened to Ron snore and Seamus wank (which he tried very hard not to listen to) and echoes of footsteps in Griffendor Tower, probably the prefects or someone patrolling for security's sake, and all the other thousand myriad noises of a castle at night, and he was pretty sure that no one had ever died of insomnia yet, but he might be the first.

Conversations and time spent with Professor Lupin, and he did _not_ have a crush on his professor, thank you very much. The man was his father's friend, for crying out loud. He was just nice, and he was smart. And he was kind, and a good teacher. And he was good-looking, and he wasn't going to think about anything else ever down that line of reasoning, ever, until the end of time. Yeah. (Except he _had_ thought about it. He'd thought about Lupin being more like a dad, and then that had morphed into something else and Harry's cock had gotten interested and then the daydream had taken a turn and he was steadily trying to pretend that hadn't happened but it had and he couldn't not think about it, and Merlin, he'd even _dreamed_ about it and that was mortifying in itself).

He wondered if he might be the only person awake in the entire castle. Thought about the ghosts, and the house elves, and probably whatever professors were supposed to be patrolling, and Filch of course, and decided he probably wasn't. Thought about how Hermione was doing this weird now-you-see-me-now-you-don't thing, and frowned. It didn't make any sense. Really, none of it did. And if he was being stalked by a phantom-prophesy of death, wouldn't it just have to be at the same time that a Death Eater escaped from prison? The image of Sirius Black's mugshots, the man screaming into the camera, flashed across Harry's mind, and he flinched.

"_psst_," he heard from his left.

"C'mere, Neville, if you're still awake," he whispered.

He shifted sideways in the bed, making room, and Neville slid in beside him, still a warm weight on the featherbed underneath, but now a little different.

"You're way taller now," Harry said, a little self-conscious. He'd grown a bit, but Neville seemed to be getting taller by the day and he wasn't exactly pudgy like he used to be. They lay on their sides, facing each other.

"Yeah. I had to ask McGonnagal to spell my robes and trousers, so they wouldn't be too short. I just keep getting taller."

"I don't," Harry said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. He was, actually, somewhat taller, but not a lot.

"She said...mmm. Not that she was saying things. But I overheard. They said you might stay shorter, because of before you came to Hogwarts. Because you didn't get enough to eat. It's okay though, you look quite fit like you are now."

Harry wasn't sure whether to be angry or what. Nice to be called quite fit, but his professor had been discussing his health? And his past, and apparently he was supposed to be stunted because the Dursleys had starved him?

"Harry? Don't, it's okay. Just... Harry, just calm down, okay? and ... yeah?" Neville's hand was stroking up and down his back and Harry calmed down and let out a long sigh.

He shifted the blanket over his shoulder and fiddled with the pillow under his head, watching Neville in the semi-dark. 

_What do you call this, this comfort in the dark, so warm and feeling good? But not with a girl, and it doesn't even feel like when I'm watching Cho, and isn't that what I'm supposed to want? _Harry ponders on it for the fiftieth time.

He sighed.

"Neville?" he asked.

Between when he'd met Neville and now, the boy had made something of a transformation and Harry had gotten enough out of the hurried health ed class two years ago, but this wasn't even entirely the same and now he felt like he might explode and take half the walls out with him.

"Alright?" Neville asked.

"Yeah. Did y'ever feel like...I dunno," Harry abandoned the stilted question.

"Like what?" Neville's eyebrows were drawn up and together and his voice squeaked a little.

"Like... ugh," Harry groaned. "Like I know I fancy Cho; she's pretty and she's a good Seeker, and I feel all... But then, I don't want to make things weird, but there's this, too, like you and me and it's not the same thing, and oh Merlin, I'm not saying I fancy you, I swearit'snotlikethat-"

"Stop," Neville whispered, but it was his hand on Harry's shoulder that cut off the rush of words. The hand that was sliding up towards Harry's neck and slid around the nape.

Harry stilled, and stared at Neville, feeling a little panicky and that wasn't usually how he felt when he and Neville were in this situation. But then, he'd never had the other boy holding the back of his neck before, either. The skin on his hand was soft, and a little bit puffy, sort of, and warm.

Neville, for his part, was looking at Harry with a question that Harry couldn't quite parse, and when his eyes flicked from his down to his mouth, and then back up again, Harry licked his lips in nervousness and hitched a breath, waiting for Neville to just say whatever it was he was going to say to make this entire embarrassing situation either worse or better, Harry didn't care which at this point, he just wanted to get it over and done with. Nothing could be more mortifying that living in this moment. He watched Neville take a deep breath.

"What if it was like that? If I fancied you?"

Well, that was unexpected. Harry stared and felt like time stood still for a moment, as if his heart had stopped in his chest, and images of Cho and Lupin and Neville all ran through his mind in the split-second he registered Neville's question, and the warm and cozy feeling he only had when Neville and he were snuggled together under the blankets, and then his chin was lifting a little and his eyes were closing and Neville's lips met his and he thought, _oh._

It was just a press, and then another one, and then Neville had his bottom lip and that was really nice and Harry found that kissing wasn't really all that complicated at all when the tip of his tongue brushed against Neville's upper lip and then their tongues were touching and sliding and oh dear god he was getting hard and he pulled away just in case Neville could somehow tell.

"I um," Harry said eloquently.

Neville cleared his throat. "Yeah, um. So," answered Neville, equally verbose.

"G'night, Neville," he whispered.

"Night, Harry."


	3. Gillyweed, Guilt, and Good Intentioned Gallivanting. Fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville wishes things could be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last secret Gryffendor Tower tryst. Our boys are growing up.

Neville closed the curtains around his bed and laid back, drawing a deep breath. The dorm room was dark, with only moonlight shining through the windows. Soon, Ron would start snoring, and Dean would probably join in at some point, and they'd do this weird disharmony of ineffective breathing that would make Neville wish he could smother them both. Finnegan would start tossing himself off without casting a Muffliato (when had he ever? Neville was starting to think he got off on the others listening to him), Harry would settle himself quietly and Neville would do the same.

Trevor let out a tiny croak from his tank, then subsided and was quiet.

Neville was trying very hard not to think about Harry, but the problem with that was anytime you tried not to think about something, you were bound to think about it even more than you usually would. It was human nature. Neville had read about it in some Muggle book, how if someone told you not to think about pink elephants, you wouldn't be able to resist thinking about pink elephants. Harry was a lot more interesting than pink elephants.

That night their third year, when he'd admitted he might just fancy Harry, had been just over a year ago. They hadn't shared a bed since, even when he'd heard Harry yell out with nightmares. They hadn't kissed again (Neville's first kiss, and he thought it was probably Harry's as well, and it had been good if a little too quick for his fantasies). They never talked about it.

They never talked about it, at all.

It was just there; something that had happened, and that Neville wished could happen again, but Harry seemed constantly swept up in some kind of plot or plan or something or other, as if his life was being mapped out and orchestrated by something larger than either of them, and meanwhile Neville was just an almost-Squib bumbling along in the dorm, helping when he could but mostly outshadowed even though he continued to grow taller and larger than the other boy. He was no longer plump and when he looked in the mirror, he decided he wasn't even all that goofy-looking anymore. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't awful. Harry still looked much the same as he had: smallish, if a bit taller, rumpled and with longer hair, and with a sharp chin and cheekbones and green eyes so expressive that Neville thought they could cut or heal all by themselves. He'd writhed in embarrassment over that thought for days afterward, for being such a sap. He'd seen a Muggle movie called Oliver Twist over the summer and been reminded, even though the actor really didn't look the same, but it was the same feeling, the same... something. 

It was a week after the second Tri-Wizard task, and he still hadn't managed to really talk to Harry. When too much time had elapsed and he'd thought the gillyweed hadn't worked and that Harry might be dead, he'd been terrified. Beyond terrified, really. It was the worst feeling he'd ever felt, even worse than when the Cornish pixies had dropped him by his ears in second year, even worse than... Well, it was worse.

"What if I fancied you?" he'd asked, over a year ago, and there was still no real answer, and that was okay but it still filled him with a mixture of excitement and dread, and every time Harry looked at him, he was waiting to see something, anything, that would give him a sign as to what Harry thought or felt.

He rolled over in the bed and pulled up the blankets, scratched the bottom of his left foot with the big toe of his right, and closed his eyes, trying to find sleep in a quickly-pulled and well-worn daydream of his mum and dad being well and them all together in the kitchen of his Gran's house, but without her there nagging at him. It was nice. They were having breakfast. His mum was smiling and putting more bacon on his plate, and his dad had the Daily Prophet and was turning to the Quidditch pages and saying something about needing Neville's help in the garden later.

"Neville?" it was almost inaudible, just barely voiced on a whisper, and his eyes shot open to see Harry's face stuck in between two tightly closed curtains.

"Alright, Harry?" he asked, almost on reflex. His heart pounded in his chest.

"Yeah. Can I?" Harry asked, and gestured at the bed hesitantly.

Neville scooted himself backwards and watched Harry pull the covers back and climb in, wearing a muggle tee shirt and some sort of plaid flannel trousers that looked at least two sizes too large and a bit threadbare at the seams and knees. Neville's pyjamas were picked out by his Gran, and always matched, cotton button up shirt and trous that he'd already had to get McGonagall to spell longer because he'd grown and his ankles had poked out. These were blue with white and silver seagulls on. He wondered briefly if that was somehow girly and then decided it didn't matter.

"Something wrong?" he asked, when Harry had gotten himself situated on the pillow, both of them on their sides facing each other, with the blankets draped over their shoulders and forming a ditch in between them.

"Not exactly," Harry said quietly and a Muffliato encased the bedcurtains, and Harry shoved his wand under his pillow. "Seamus, you know," he said.

"Yeah. So....," Neville said, not really sure how to make conversation in that moment.

"Do you get bothered over girls and blokes? Or just blokes?" Harry asked abruptly.

"Oh! I guess just blokes. Don't tell Ron and Seamus, okay? Or Dean."

"No, I won't. Is it okay if I like both? I mean, depending on the person, it's not _everyone_, you know."

"Yeah, think so. I mean, even Ron doesn't like _every_ girl."

Harry giggled and managed, "You might not think so if you heard him sometimes. Or Seamus, either."

"Mmm."

Harry was quiet but Neville could tell he wasn't asleep and he was was thinking about times past when they'd cuddled together and wishing they could do that again, but he wasn't sure how to broach the topic and he wasn't sure if Harry would be up for it. He pushed his knee forward and found Harry's leg under the covers and made contact. Harry didn't draw away, and he counted that as a victory.

"Harry? Can I kiss you again?" Neville considered himself very brave for coming straight out (well, actually, not) and asking.

"Yeah, if I can try something in a bit. Been thinking about it." Harry's voice sounded a little rough, but when Neville captured his lips, it was much the same as last year: soft, a bit hesitant, and incredibly sweet. He tilted his head a bit, pressed a bit harder, and Harry's lips parted under his own and he licked into Harry's mouth, not settling for those tiny tongue-brushes he'd felt last year. He wanted to know exactly how Harry tasted (pumpkin juice, a hint of mint, and something that was more scent than taste, that was like the wind ahead of a thunderstorm).

The kiss stretched on for long minutes, as they stretched against each other and pulled away briefly to catch snatched breaths and then dove back for contact, and when they finally drew apart, Neville was above Harry on the bed, one thigh between his legs, and both of their lips were swollen and too sensitive, and they were both studiously ignoring the raging erections that had sprung up, and Harry dragged his incisors against his bottom lip and stared up at Neville.

"So can I?" he panted. "Try something, I mean?"

"I guess so," Neville said, a little uncertainly.

Harry leaned back into him, kissing the taller boy and then pushed him over onto his back and curled up against him on his side, lifting his thigh so it was draped over Neville's. As they kissed more, and Neville felt a hardness jutting against his hip, and then Harry slid his leg further up and he tore his lips away in a gasp.

"What are you-?"

"Sorry," Harry whispered, immediately rolling away from him.

"No, it's not that," Neville said. "I liked it. I just... did y'ever want... Oh, Merlin's pants, I'm making a mess of this. C'mere," he groaned, and rolled over on top of Harry, slipping one leg between the smaller boy's as he did so and one arm under Harry's neck. He could feel himself pressing into Harry's stomach, hard and aching, and Harry was the same, and when he rolled his hips, Harry's mouth opened in shuddering exhale.

Neville leaned his head down and kissed him again, soft and teasing, and when Harry's lips parted and their tongues met once more, he felt Harry roll against him, and that really was brilliant, he thought in some hazy far-off way, and then they were kissing and rubbing against one another in earnest. The kissing grew somewhat sloppier, a bit frantic as they rubbed and ground their hips together, chasing sensation. He pulled his lips away as it grew too intense, buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck, and then pressed his open mouth just under Harry's ear and sucked a little, and then Harry was jerking upwards with a keening little cry and between the sound and the expression on his face when Neville rose up on his elbows, it tipped him over as well and he came with three harsh hiprolls that pressed him hard against Harry.

Harry made a soft noise and scrunched his nose a bit, still breathing heavily, and Neville rolled off of him.

"Sorry. I know I'm heavy. Didn't squash you, did I?" he asked, panting a bit.

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding? And uh... your way worked better."

They both started laughing at that, and at some point a cleaning charm was cast that left their pyjamas less sticky. Sometime later in the night, Neville rolled over in his sleep to an otherwise empty bed.


	4. When Defence is the Best Offence. Fifteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's Army meetings don't always go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really unhappy with how the last chapter turned out, particularly the POV switch and the steamier bits, so I've edited it and I'm much more comfortable with it now (I fixed it to stay entirely Neville's POV for one). So if you already read it, you might want to take a quick peek before moving on to this new chapter. Let me know if you'd like another Neville POV before this concludes. 
> 
> Yes, this is getting quite angsty, but teenagers=angst as far as I'm concerned. Don't worry, everything turns out fine in the end... or at least as fine as it can be, when Voldemort and Death Eaters are a threat!

The DA meeting had gone well, Harry thought. Most of his classmates had made noticeable improvements in their defensive abilities, and some had grown by leaps and bounds. Harry was thrilled by the corporeal patronuses which had gamboled around the Room of Requirement, and even the wispier, non-corporeal ones that some of the students had produced were impressive, and a good deal better than not being able to cast one at all.

Nearly everyone had left, but Harry was still walking around, picking up random pillows and chucking them against the walls and generally setting things to rights. He was vaguely aware of Ginny and Dean as they laughed together and left. Cho had been one of the first ones out the door, and Harry was glad. Things were still a bit awkward between them, but it seemed to be getting better.

"We never talk like we used to."

Harry looked up, a bit startled to realize that Neville was still there, although the room was now empty otherwise. Neville was sat against the wall, knees drawn up with his elbows folded across them, looking at him from across the room.

"We never talked much at all, Neville," he said, and took a deep breath.

"Some nights we did." Neville's expression wasn't accusatory, like Harry expected. It was a bit sad, a bit wistful, and glaringly naked in its honestly. It made something in his chest clench up and he swallowed it down. He threw the last scattered cushion into a pile of others, turning his back on the taller boy.

"We did, and you know it. And then after that last time... Harry, you hardly even speak to me at all anymore, outside of here. You just go on pretending like nothing ever happened, and I'm what? Supposed to do the same? Act like none of mattered?"

Harry only turned around when a small pillow bounced off the back of his head, wand drawn.

"What? Going to hex me now? Go on, then, Boy Who Lived to be a prat."

Harry dropped his hand (though not the wand, itself) and shot Neville a slightly wounded look. "I wouldn't actually hex you, you know," he bit out.

"No. You'd just snog me senseless and then go on about your days like you hadn't," Neville answered, standing up.

"I snogged Cho," he said.

"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for you? Did you go about pretending it never happened with her, too?"

That was not how it had happened, but it was also a little closer to the truth than felt comfortable, and he could feel his face start to burn even as he scratched at the back of his neck and started across the room towards the door, saying, "No, it just wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Neville had intercepted him and grabbed the back of his robes, stopping him.

Harry turned, and Neville pulled him closer. Harry felt his breath hitch at the closer proximity and the way Neville's eyes were staring into his. His lips parted. "It wasn't...," and faltered.

"Wasn't what?" Neville repeated, leaning in close, face just a breath away from his. Harry's face tilted up; he couldn't help it. The kiss, when it came, seemed inevitable, and he felt like he was on fire as Neville dragged him back towards the pile of pillows and cushions, only leaving his mouth once to check their progress, and then Harry was somehow on his back and being kissed fiercely, his hands raking up Neville's back to twine his fingers into the taller boy's hair.

"Tell me. Wasn't what you thought it would be like?" Neville nipped his bottom lip with his teeth, just short of painful. "Wasn't how you liked it?" a kiss on the throat, and then more as he worked his way down towards Harry's shoulder. "Wasn't what you wanted?" He paused there, worrying the tendon in Harry's neck with his teeth.

  
"It wasn't like with you," Harry admitted, the words only barely voiced (_I must not tell lies_), but Neville heard him, and when Neville captured his mouth once more, Harry was kissing him back with feverish need.

Eyes closed and given in completely to the feel of it all, every sensation heightened, and he was vaguely aware that robes were being pulled away and trousers were being undone and pushed downwards, but that seemed somehow secondary to the growing want in his belly, in the way his balls had drawn up and the fabric of his pants seemed too rough against his straining cock, and then the fabric was gone as well and a hand had clasped him and it wasn't his own. He gasped, broke the kiss and looked at Neville, whose greenish-grey eyes had gone dark, the pupils had gone so wide. Neville's face was a picture of concentration and also pain, and when he stroked Harry, and then again, Harry dragged his head back down to his, pressing his lips against his mouth and seeking entrance.

This. This is what he'd been missing with Cho, the heat and the way their mouths slotted perfectly together, and the taste of him, and the hard lines and the feel of someone larger against him, and he fumbled Neville's robes open and unzipped his flies even as Neville continued to stroke him with a firm hand, not hurrying, not fumbling as Harry was doing as he reached for Neville's cock which was heavy against his palm and already a bit wet at the tip. He dragged his thumb across it and spread it down, sliding the foreskin down and then back up again. This is what he'd been wanting, sure fingers that knew what they were doing and he knew what he was doing, and he kissed Neville and worked him over and felt himself being worked over in return and the intensity was almost too much.

Neville pulled his mouth away just long enough to gasp out, "Gods, Harry... ahh ah-ahhhh," and then spurted over Harry's hand, and it startled him in its suddeness, made his hips jerk his cock through the Neville's fist, and then he was coming, too, spasms that felt too good to be real, better than any wank in the showers or even that night in Fourth Year. For one long, blissed-out moment, his mind was completely clear, almost blank, and he wasn't worried about anything.

Neville sank down beside him and pressed his lips to Harry's sweaty temple, and Harry let out a long sigh. They lay like that for perhaps five minutes, not talking, just breathing while sweat dried and the spunk turned sticky-tacky on their hands and stomachs and clothing, Eventually the mess was spelled away and their clothes were fastened back up, and they still just sat on the cushions, a little apart from each other, but easier in each other's presence than they had been in months.

"Still going to keep pretending it didn't happen? Neville asked quietly, sounding a bit resigned.

"What would you have me do? Snog you in the common room like Ron and Lavendar? I can't do that, everyone would flip!"

"I wouldn't mind," Neville began, but Harry cut him off.

"Nev, how? Can you imagine what everyone would say? What Rita Skeeter would print, if it got out? Wizards don't just go around dating wizards, and you know it!"

"It's been done. There were two Hufflepuffs in Seventh Year, when we were in Second. And Gran said something funny about Dumbledore once. It's not-," but he was interrupted once more.

"I can't. Did y'ever stop to think that I just can't? I'm going to either kill Voldemort or die trying. I can't think beyond that, and anything that doesn't help me in that... I can't." His voice broke a little at the last.

"No," Neville said, standing up. "You could. You just won't. But that's fine. I won't bring it back up again." And before Harry could frame a reply, Neville had crossed the room and disappeared through the door.


	5. After the final battle. Seventeen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst all the funerals, Harry finds himself struggling with his mental health. Neville tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, a couple of things. This story is going to finish out on the 30th probably, rather than on the 25th as I'd previously stated. This chapter and the one to follow wound up far longer, far angstier, and far more convoluted than I originally envisioned, and thus took much longer to write and edit. The last chapter should come out in the next three days or so.
> 
> Next, shout-out to my commentators: y'all are awesome and I so appreciate the encouragement! Same goes to those who've left kudos! I'm not really sure how I've wound up with more subscriptions than kudos, but whatever, I'm greedy and I'll take what I can get. :D
> 
> Now, for this chapter: CONTENT WARNING. Things are going to get dark. Things are going to heat up. Things are going to get awkward. Things may even get a bit comedic (hopefully; writing comedy has never been my strong suit). That said, here we've got a couple of 17 year old characters, so they may have some hangups and stuff. 
> 
> Also, I think it's pretty much fanon at this point that Hogwarts has the worst sex-ed ever. Basically, puberty, prophylaxis, and a brief overview on avoiding love potions. Which honestly, isn't much different than sex-ed in the mid to late 90s when I was in school in the US (I don't know how it was in the UK). Given that the internet in its current form didn't exist really exist back then, I don't think that I'm stretching to believe these boys would be incredibly ill-prepared and uninformed.
> 
> Finally, I couldn't manage writing a funeral for a canon character, which was my original thought, so I made up a plausible OC's funeral. Please excuse my hubris in this and I hope I did her justice. Three fingers up, she volunteered as tribute.

Harry had lost count of how many funerals he'd attended.

He'd attended every one that he could: every one that he'd received notices for and quite a few that he'd only heard about through word of mouth or seeing blurbs in the Daily Prophet. It worked out to one nearly every single day, with only a few reprieves, starting four days after the Battle for Hogwarts had ended with Voldemort's death and his own... resuscitation? Resurrection? He liked the first descriptor better than the second, but not by much. Nearly a month had gone by, and while his bruises had faded, the scars left behind (both physical and mental) remained. The months spent on the run, sleeping little and eating less, had left him drawn and pale and listless, and even staying in the relative safety and comfort of 12 Grimmauld Place, where such creature comforts as food and a warm bed were available, hadn't helped much. Kreacher comforts, indeed.

It was a wizard service. He watched and listened as a dark skinned wizard, Natalia's father, spoke a few words in lightly-accented English. Caribbean, it sounded. Harry barely remembered the Ravenclaw Fifth year girl they were memorializing. If he pushed himself, he could gather a hazy image of a petite girl with hair done up in little braids, sitting a few places down from Luna in the Great Hall at breakfast. The man concluded his eulogy and sat back down with his wife, a woman with dishwater blond hair and a pinched, haunted expression, who hugged a young boy against her side and kissed his close crop of curls. They'd had hopes, this little family. Natalia had lingered for three weeks at St. Mungo's before succumbing. The healers had been optimistic at first.

Shortly afterwards, the service concluded. Harry stood when the others did, but hung back, knowing he'd need to join the reception line to express his condolences but not wanting to draw attention to his presence. It wasn't about him. It wasn't about him, and at the other funerals he'd attended, the other mourners (not the bereaved families) hadn't seemed to understand that. They wanted to question him. How was he coping? How was he holding up? Could they do anything for him? It wasn't about _him_, and he couldn't scream that at them at a funeral where parents were weeping the loss of their children, he couldn't draw even more attention to himself when it wasn't wanted in the first place, and he couldn't make them stop approaching and asking their asinine questions.

"Her patronus was an oystercatcher," he heard, and turned to see Neville standing beside him, just a smidge closer than polite, but not offensive.

"What?"

"An oystercatcher. You know, the bird? That was her patronus. She used to help me with the DA, after you and Ron and Hermione were gone. I still haven't managed a corporeal one, but managed to coach her into casting hers."

"I barely remember her," Harry answered bitterly.

"Well, it's been over a year, and we didn't have any classes with them, and she wasn't in DA when you were there," Neville said, shrugging one shoulder. "She was smart. Well, I mean, Ravenclaw and all, she would be. Really good at charms, too, and she could probably give Hermione a run in History of Magic. Her mum's a Squib from Northumberland, and her father's a wizard from Haiti, but they lived in Sussex."

The receiving line moved forward, and Harry moved with it. He shook hands with Natalia Desjardins's parents and offered the same bleak condolences he'd done at all the funerals he'd attended so far. As he moved aside so that Neville could speak to her parents, the small boy tugged at his robes, and Harry looked down.

"Did you know 'Talia?" he asked, looking up with red-rimmed eyes, caramel skin unnaturally pale.

"She was very brave and very smart, and very good with charms," he told him, nodding.

"She told the best stories," the boy answered with a hitch in his throat.

"I bet she did. Will you be coming to Hogwarts soon? It's all being repaired, you know. You look smart, probably a Ravenclaw, too," Harry said, thinking the boy looked to be maybe nine or so.

"Nah, I'm like Mum. S'ok, I like football better'n quidditch anyway. Not likely to get cursed, either."

"That's alright then," Harry said, nodding. "You get the best of both. Lots of options for you, whether in the Muggle world or Wizarding."

"Harry! Harry Potter!" Harry turned as his name was called and stepped out of the reception line as four people descended on him and began their infernal questions. He'd managed to tell them that he was recuperating slowly, that he wasn't ready to do any formal interviews, and that he didn't have a formal statement to make, before Neville was once more at his elbow, pulling him back a little and placing himself between Harry and the others.

"Harry will provide a formal statement when he's ready, but a hero's funeral isn't an appropriate venue. If you'll excuse us, now," and then Harry was being propelled along by the hand on his arm and once they were out of the main crowd he managed to pull away.

"Thanks," Harry said, panting a little from the stress. "Were you going to Apparate home? Or Floo? Only I haven't seen a fireplace here and-"

  
"Harry. Were _you_ going to Apparate home?" Neville's voice was quiet and even and kind and calming.

"Yes?"

"Can you Side-Along me?"

"Yes, alright," he answered, and took Neville's elbow and turned in place, and felt them both sucked into a tiny tunnel through his navel.

*

They landed in the kitchen.

Kreacher backed away from the fireplace in horror, then managed to somehow conjure a kettle of stew onto the stove along with a tea kettle of hot water that shouldn't be so near to boiling yet but somehow was. 

"Master Harry is scaring Kreacher with his startling Apparations. Master Harry is bringing home guests for dinner without telling Kreacher that there would be guests. And pureblood guests! Kreacher is sorry. Kreacher will have something much better than stew. Kreacher will make seven courses. Kreacher will make-"

"Kreacher, stop. The stew is fine. Is there bread? Butter?"

"Yes, Master Harry. There is bread and butter and tea," he said, and indeed there was because a ceramic teapot on the table was suddenly joined by two cups and the kettle on the hob was tipping its contents into it. A small jug of milk and bowl of sugar appeared alongside, and Kreacher busied himself, almost hiding what he was doing with the stew, moving his arms and body strangely so that Harry couldn't actually see what herbs or.... potions or anything else, he might be putting into it.

"Ta, Harry. Ta, Kreacher," Neville said, stirring a bit of sugar and milk into his tea. 

"Yeah, thanks," he said, and decided to ignore the house elf's behaviour, because trying to figure it out made his head hurt and he was just too tired to bother.

Somehow, as he sat there at the table, too tired to even sleep, Neville managed to convince Kreacher to go to his hidey-hole. Stasis spells were cast over the food Kreacher had made. He was urged upstairs in something like a confused dream, sleepwalking each step and then changing into his pyjamas even though a vague voice at the back of his mind was saying something about the golden afternoon sunlight still streaking through the windows, tea hadn't been served yet, wasn't he going to look at the fourth stair today and fix the creak?, and there was still that doxy infestation on the third floor he was going to clear out, and then he was climbing between cool sheets and laying down. Through all of it, another voice was assuring him that he should relax, he should go to sleep, he wasn't alone anymore, he could rest now, and he was so tired he that he couldn't help but listen and close his eyes and hope that this time, the nightmares wouldn't return.

He wasn't that lucky.

But each time he woke up screaming, there was a hand on his arm, or an arm around his waist, and a voice in his ear telling him that now, everything was safe. The dreams couldn't hurt him, and he was safe. The voice sounded very certain, and Harry trusted it, and let himself go back to sleep. And the last time he slept, there were no dreams at all that he remembered, and when he woke, it was to watery morning light, the sound of rain pattering against the windowpanes, and a warm weight pressed against his back and an arm thrown over his middle, and he felt calm and good for the first time in months, maybe years.

Neville was snoring in the bed behind him.

Harry laid there in the half-light of the rainy early morning and pondered what it all meant, but that started to give him a headache so he just cast a breath freshening charm on himself and then on Neville's sleeping form, and called it good. Neville had mumbled something and rolled over onto his back, but hadn't woken up when he cast it, and Harry grinned and began to press open mouthed kisses against his shoulder, neck and jawline, willing the other to wake up but not wanting to do anything too overt to wake him deliberately. When he reached Neville's ear, Neville's arms came up to wrap around him and Harry drew back enough to look at him.

"Morning," he said, voice raspy from sleep.

"Morning," Neville replied, then made a funny face as he rolled his tongue in his mouth, tasting himself.

"It's only polite, I thought," Harry said, chuckling and sitting up.

"Mmm. Funny way to wake up, though." Neville sat up, then swung his legs out of the bed and stood. He gathered up his jumper and slacks, picked up his shoes from where they lay on the floor, and turned back to look at Harry, still sitting propped against the headboard. "I'll uh.. get dressed in the lav, then, and be out of your hair in a minute."

Harry watched him go in confusion. Neville looked so uncomfortable, almost timid, nothing like the confident man at the funeral, but then realization dawned. They hadn't been so close to each other since that afternoon in the Room of Requirement, and he'd just woken him up like they were boyfriends or something, and he hadn't given any indication of that. He'd been acting as a friend. "Neville? Stay for breakfast at least?" When he hesitated, Harry continued, "Least I can do after keeping you awake half the night with my nightmares."

Neville nodded, then. "If you want, okay. I'll just...," and he left the room to use the bathroom down the hall instead of the en suite attached to Harry's room.

*

Ten minutes later, they were both dressed and in the kitchen, staring at the breakfast Kreacher had laid out for them. There was tea, and a fry-up of eggs and rashers and tomatoes, beans on toast, all very normal, but then there was also roasted brussel sprouts, as well as a bowl of biryani and a dish of what smelled like chicken tikka masala. Harry tried to keep a straight face as he watched Neville stir milk into his tea, watched his eyes flick back and forth from the curry to the sprouts to Harry and back again. It didn't work. He burst out laughing. All of his emotions, when he felt any at all, ran too close to the surface, too strongly, often inappropriate for the situation these days.

"Sorry about this," he managed, once the hysterics had calmed down enough. "Kreacher... I don't think he's even aware he's doing anything weird. To him, this made perfect sense. I was just glad last night that he didn't start going on about blood traitors."

"S'alright. Gran's Dilby is much the same. Last week, I walked into the parlor and she was dusting, but she was using one of Gran's old feather boas to do it, just like that was normal. Puts my shoes into my coat pockets, too." He scooped eggs and bacon onto his plate, and then took a spoonful of biryani as well, flashing a quick grin at Harry.

Harry followed suit, but only picked at his food, drinking cup after cup of tea instead as his mind drifted and wandered as it did so often now, winding down paths he wished he hadn't had to walk in the first place and wasn't compelled to revisit.

"That was the eighth one," Neville said, breaking him out of his reverie.

"What?" 

"That was the eighth funeral I've seen you at."

Harry sighed. "It feels like that's all I've done, since... Gone to funerals. Came back here to try to get this house fixed up, but even when I work on it, I don't seem to make much progress."

"And you're not sleeping, and you're barely eating," Neville said, and Harry just looked down into his cup of tea. "You're spending all of your time surrounded by funeral-goers or a senile house-elf. Harry, stay here today. Try to get some rest, or maybe firecall Ron or Hermione or someone. I have to go home for a while; Gran might need something and she worries. But I'll come back tonight, if you want. Around seven?"

"You don't have to," Harry said quietly.

"No. I want to, though."

For once in his life, Harry accepted defeat. He nodded.

*

Neville pointed a vinegar-laced chip at Harry and asked," So what did you do today?"

He'd been surprised when Neville had stepped through the floo at 6:55, and even more so when he saw that he carried a bag from a chippie and a growler of stout. They'd divvied up the fish and chips and poured the beer into glasses and settled down at the kitchen table again, and Kreacher had wandered off muttering about wasted efforts and blood traitors who didn't appreciate fine cuisine like his Mistress had.

Harry swallowed the mouthful of fish and shrugged. "Took a shower. Tried to get rid of some doxies upstairs. Read a Quidditch magazine for an hour without absorbing one word of it. Took a nap. Wallowed in my own misery. You know, the usual."

Neville snorted. "Do you always have nightmares like last night?"

"Sometimes worse than that, but they won't give me any more Dreamless Sleep unless I come in for an evaluation."

"It might not be such a bad idea, you know. You could see someone professional, someone who knows about these things."

"Yes, Neville, because there are so many people in the world who know all about dying and coming back to life, and killing the most evil wizard ever, and listening to your friends get tortured, and burying a house-elf who had just died trying to help you, and everything else that's happened!" Harry rolled his eyes. "I can see the headlines now: _Boy Who Lived Twice Cracks Up After Funeral_."

"Still, it's worth a try," Neville said quietly. "There's healers that specialize in this stuff. I saw one for a while when I was only little, to talk about my parents. And I've gone back once a week since, you know, the battle and all."

"That's where you went today?" Harry asked. When Neville nodded, Harry took a drink of his stout and ate another chip. This may have been the most he'd eaten in one sitting in nearly a year. He was actually hungry for once, but he couldn't tell if the greasy, vinegary chips were making him feel better or worse. He picked up the last piece of fish instead, glad that it was still hot enough to burn his mouth a bit. It was good to feel something. Mostly he didn't.

"I couldn't call Ron or Hermione. They're both at The Burrow, you know. I can't call and unload all this crap on them, when everyone in that house is grieving so hard for Fred. And I am, too, but it's not the same. Hermione is frantic, between trying to help them all and working on how to un-obliviate her parents. And Ginny... she keeps talking like she and I will get back together, but it's really just her missing her brother and trying to latch onto something that'll make her feel normal or whatever, and I can't be that for her, not when I'm so messed up. Even if I weren't, I don't know if I could with her anymore. We're not the same people. Too much has happened.

"I wanted to say, should've said before, really, but thank you. Thanks for yesterday, feeding me information about Natalia so I wouldn't look an arse in front of her family. I realised today that was what you were doing. And for getting between me and the vultures. Making sure I got back here, and then staying. After that last nightmare, I think I slept longer uninterrupted than I have in weeks. And for not getting mad when I snapped at you a few minutes ago. Sorry, too, about that." 

"Harry, can I ask you something?" Neville began tidying up the take-out wrappings and poured the last of the stout into their glasses.

"You didn't ask permission before, so yeah, I guess."

"Don't think too hard on it, just answer the first thing that comes to mind. What do you want right now?"

"Probably the same as Ginny," he answered with a grimace. "To feel normal for a while. Just be Harry, a bloke who lives in London and eats curry for breakfast and goes to the local, maybe plays darts or something. I guess... it's like, I planned on getting this far, but I never really thought about what would happen afterward. Used to think maybe I'd be an Auror, but now that's the last thing I'd want to do."

"Yeah, I get all that. But I meant, right now? This moment." Neville tucked the rubbish in the bin and straightened up to look at Harry, and Harry was taken with how he looked, still young but also grown up, calm and dependable.

"To snog you senseless, like you said a long time ago. It's okay, though, I know from this morning that's not what you want."

Neville's smile was sad. "C'mon, Harry. Anytime you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do was ask."

*

They'd changed into pyjamas or out of them hundreds of times in Gryffindor Tower, so why did getting ready for bed now feel so weird?

Harry pondered on it as he toed off his trainers and socks, shucked out of his jeans and jumper and threw them all into his hamper. He pulled a pair a pair of cotton lounge trousers and a Harpies tee shirt out of a drawer, and then paused for a moment.

"Um. I'd offer you something to sleep in, but none of my stuff will be long enough for you," he said, not turning around.

"S'alright. I shrunk an overnight bag, just in case. I'm all set."

Face burning, he pulled the clothes on and decided it was proximity to others that made the difference. No one else was in this room except for him and Neville. The bed creaked behind him and he heard the rustle of sheets. "Nox," he whispered, and made his way back to the bed in semi-darkness. He took off his glasses and placed them and his wand on the bedside table, then climbed in next to Neville, feeling more than a bit awkward and far more nervous than he'd been downstairs.

"Weird, innit?"

"Little bit," Harry agreed. He stared upwards at the dark ceiling, the blur of the overhead light fixture a dark indistinct shape against the lighter coloured plaster. "Was that true, what you said back then? About those two Hufflepuffs?"

Neville huffed a laugh beside him. "Yeah. I had run away from Crabbe and Goyle one Saturday, wanted a good place to hide. They were behind one of the greenhouses, robes up and um, wands out," he said with a wry laugh. "Not sure who was more shocked. But they were nice about it. I don't remember either of their names, but the darker haired one just fixed his clothes and asked me what the matter was, and the other one patted my shoulder. We played exploding snap for an hour or so, and then the bell rang for dinner. I figured then, it would be okay. To go back in for dinner, I mean, and also... you know, liking you, and not bothered about girls. They were nice, is all. Did make me wonder if I'd been sorted wrong, though, like everyone said. No one thought I should be in Gryffindor."

"I did. The last day, first year, I did. You're loyal and patient like Hufflepuffs, sure, and you like things like Herbology and that's Huffley too, right? But I don't think there's a Hufflepuff ever as brave as you are. Even Cedric," and here his voice broke a little. "Maybe it's more like a spectrum. Like, you're Gryffindor edging towards Hufflepuff. Cedric was Hufflepuff edging towards Gryffindor. I'm Gryffindor edging toward Slytherin. Um. I guess following that logic, Draco would be Slytherin towards Ravenclaw. And Luna would be Ravenclaw towards...," he blew air in a long exhale. "Actually, I'm not sure what she'd be. Ravenclaw towards Trelawney?" The bed vibrated a bit; Neville was shaking in silent laughter. "Yeah, and Mione is obviously Ravenclaw-ish. Ron's just Ron."

"Ron's almost pure Hufflepuff, except he has no sense of self-preservation at all, which passes for bravery."

"Maybe," Harry said. There was a hand on his chest, stroking lightly, and he was trying to concentrate on the sensation.

"Sometimes I wonder if the Sorting Hat made things worse, dividing us up that way. We were set as adversaries as children," Neville said. "I get the theory, put like-minded people together, sure, and the whole competitive nature of it all. But we were only young. It didn't have to be so... oh, what's the word. Separative.. No, divisive. It didn't have to be so divisive, so that we looked at each other as enemies. It never should have been that. We were just kids trying to grow up."

"The Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin. I asked it not to."

"See? My point exactly!" Neville said, and Harry felt him turn in the bed and gather Harry's body more closely against his. Neville was warm, and solid, and a comforting presence against him, and also he was getting hard in his pants and trying to ignore that fact. "Think how much would have been different if you'd been sorted Slytherin, or if the Houses weren't such a hindrance in kids getting to actually know one another!"

Harry wondered if he'd ever heard Neville so excited about anything outside of Herbology topics. "You've really given this some thought, haven't you?"

"Yeah. I think, after we go back in the fall and finish out, finally. I think I want to see about teaching, actually. It was good, helping everyone in DA. I liked helping the younger kids and watching them get excited when they realised what they could do, when they mastered a spell and stuff. Dunno what I'd teach, but Sprout won't be around forever, and maybe they'll have me on as an adjunct or something in the meantime."

"You'd be good at that," he sighed. 

"You alright?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I just wish I knew what I want to do."

Neville drew him in closer and tightened his arms around his waist, pressing Harry's side against his chest, but leaving everything below the waist loose, not touching. Harry sighed as he felt kisses being pressed below his ear, down his neck, along his collarbone.. He drew a deep breath.

"Neville?"

"Hmm?" Neville had pulled Harry's shirt up at some point and was running his lips and tongue over Harry's left nipple, which wasn't actually all that sensitive, but still felt nice, and he wasn't sure if he wanted Neville to continue or quit.

"Did y'ever.. um."

"What? I'll tell you, or... or show you," whispered words against skin, kisses followed them up, and Harry sighed and arched into them and whimpered when lips were removed.

"Did y'ever... um, fuck anyone?"

Harry had heard a record scratch-stop exactly once, eavesdropping on something Dudley had been watching on television. 

He hadn't even seen it. Still felt the same.

"Oh gods," he said. "Sorry. You don't have to, just please stay here for tonight, I just want a night without nightmares, and we don't have to but it seemed like something we both might like but it's not that important, really," and then Neville had cut off his stream of consciousness with his own mouth and all Harry knew was Neville's tongue and the press and play of Neville's lips against his and the warmth and slide and how right it felt and he calmed down and everything felt alright again, and there were hands stroking down his ribs and his hands were outlining a strong back, and that was wonderful.

"I do want to," Neville breathed into his mouth between kisses. "I do, but I only nicked one magazine off Uncle Algie, and it just showed the one scene beyond wizards tossing off, and they were," he stopped there and dragged his lips down Harry's throat and back up again. "Um, the one bloke was putting his tongue, you know, there, before they went on and, and I don't think...," and then sucked a bruise beneath Harry's ear and he wasn't sure but his brain seemed to be short-circuiting.

"I don't want that," Harry panted. "Don't.. like, I could suck you, or you could, or whatever, but don't put your mouth _there_, alright?"

"Nah, but here," and Neville was pushing Harry's trousers and pants down, elastic gliding over his hips, past his knees, and he was kicking them off, and still Neville was above him, nipping at his neck, his ears, his shoulders, and his back seemed very strong under his own palms, and he slid his hands down to find fabric that he pushed downwards as well, and followed with his hands, and felt the muscles flexing beneath his hands. They pressed into each other, and it was like it had been a few years before, except without the layers of fabric in the way, and they kissed and slid against one another and gasped, but it wasn't quite enough and when Harry lifted his thigh up and rutted against Neville, he swore, and when Neville shifted a bit so that his cock was sliding between Harry's legs, he groaned, but it still wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"Nev. Nev, please!" and Neville would think later it was the way his voice had broken on the please that did it, and he licked his palm and spit into it, and slicked himself as best he could and pressed against Harry and it was everything he could ever have hoped for, hot and tight and forbidden and he was actually doing this, Merlin's beard, he was pressing in and Harry was so tight and furled closed and he could just push into that, and Harry winced and flinched and sort of wiggled away and that was so hot and he held onto his hips and pushed and the head of his cock was actually _in_ and Harry made a high shrieking noise and the mood broke.

"Ow, **OW**, stop," Harry said, scrabbling away from him, and wound up sitting up against the headboard while Neville was still a bit down in the bed, still two steps behind, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Sorry?" he offered, feeling terrible. "Sorry, I didn't... are you okay?"

"Think so, just give me a minute, yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to hurt you. It just felt really good, but not... like it was good, but it's not good if you're not liking it too."

"Seemed like a good idea, but yeah, no. I didn't like that. Was like getting stabbed or something. Don't know why anybody...," he huffed a breath and trailed off.

"Because sometimes it might feel good? You were all up for it before, you know. I just," Neville paused, thinking. "I probably didn't do it right. Something. Like, it's supposed to be nice. Not you sat there feeling stabbed or whatever."

"Yeah, I guess."

Harry slid down the headboard and scootched the pillows under his head. "Still kinda want to get off, if you're up for it. But just, not that. Okay?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

The en suite had an array of soaps and he washed off and thought about everything. He formulated a plan. It was almost an herbology trial, really.

"Alright, lay back. I'm going to kiss you."

And he did. Neville kissed Harry's mouth, and slid his tongue against his until Harry relaxed. He kissed his throat. He kissed his chest, and then went back to his mouth again, long kisses that left Harry boneless. He kissed down his sides until Harry's hips lifted instinctively and he didn't have to hold back anymore. He kissed down the length of Harry's cock, and then pulled his bollocks into his mouth for good measure, rubbing his tongue along them and sucking softly before releasing. He pulled the head of Harry's cock in and sucked, then slid back and forth.

"Shouldn't I be doing this for you, instead?" Harry gasped.

"Maybe. In a while," he answered.


	6. Afterlife. After Death. After. Twenty-four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six years later, Harry and Neville get together in Hogsmeade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm dreadfully late posting this, but better late than never, yeah?
> 
> Huge thanks go out to those who have left kudos, bookmarked, and commented. It's been enormously gratifying. I'll have to go back and re-read the books (difficult since my adult daughter currently has my set) and re-watch all the movies, before I try to write another story in this fandom. I'm sure I've gotten some things wrong, simply because time steals memories and rewrites them, and I haven't been this close to this fandom in over a decade. I do hope I haven't committed any errors too egregious to forgive. For my part, I absolutely detest errors of that nature, so if you spot one, please do drop a comment so I can fix it!
> 
> And now, as they say, on to the show...

The ceiling depicted a slate-grey sky full of clouds, and Neville was pushing eggs around his plate, when the owls began to swoop through the Great Hall.

It was the same as any morning. It was the third Tuesday of September, so he'd have the first, second, and fifth years today, and his mind was full of lesson plans. He needed to make sure there were enough earmuffs for all of the students for the lesson in mandrakes, and there were other considerations for the yarrow and dittany and venomous tentacula that the older students would be studying, and he was organizing all of this in his head when a long eared owl flapped to perch just in front of his plate and stuck out its leg with a haughty look. It ruffled up and then closed its eyes as if it couldn't be bothered.

Neville took the rolled parchment from its leg and unfurled it, glanced up to see the long tables of students reading their own post, and then looked down at the messy handwriting.

_Nev,_

_I'll be in Hogsmeade this weekend on business. Would you like to stop in at the Three Broomsticks on Friday night? Old times' sake, and all. It's been a few years. We should catch up._

_-H_

Neville tore the parchment, tucking the bit with the message into his pocket even as he drew a biro from it and scrawled his own response on the bit left behind.

_Harry,_

_I'll see you then, likely between 7 and 8, depending on who gets detention (if anyone). _

_Cheers,_

_Neville_

He tied the response to the owls leg and tried not to mind when it snagged a piece of bacon from his plate before it flapped its wings and launched itself from the table. He put the biro back into his pocket and ate a bite of his scrambled eggs. Took a sip of tea. Professor Flitwick made inquisitive eyebrows at him, but he just smiled and slathered some jam on his toast.

*

"Neville, you do realize, no matter how good it might feel and how connected and not alone, sex cannot help what you've been through. And it won't help him, either. With everything else that has happened, it could even be emotionally damaging at this time. Maybe in the future it will be different, but right now it's not the best idea."

Neville's mind-healer had said this to him the day he'd seen her, after putting Harry to bed and waking him again and again, after nightmare after nightmare. She'd said it to him again, at their next appointment, after they'd tried to have penetrative (her words, not Neville's) sex. Neville was still trying to decide if what they had done meant he'd lost his virginity or not, or if Harry had. Eventually, he'd decided that he had, but Harry could decide his side of it for himself. One's truth was in their perception of it. That was something else his mind-healer liked to say. Harry might have his own perception. Neville liked the idea that he'd given his to Harry.

But he'd followed her advice, and he hadn't kissed Harry anymore, and he certainly hadn't gone to bed with him, but they'd hung out and played cards and chess, and when Harry asked, Neville had gotten him in touch with a mind-healer (not the same one that he talked to), and Neville had flooed Ron and Hermione to be there for Harry when he couldn't, and even Ginny and George came over sometimes and kept Harry company, and eventually Neville could let his own presence fade as Harry got stronger and started letting others help him as well. 

Which was good, because as much as he was worried about Harry, he'd received an owl from Headmistress McGonagall asking him to report on August 25th, to take up a position as professor for Herbology (sub-OWLS only) and Master Gardener, which as far as Neville knew, wasn't a thing before, but he was perfectly happy being put in charge of the greenhouses. And so he went, and dove into his work as a gardener, and wrote out lesson plans on plants, and flooed once a week to St. Mungo's for his appointments with his mind-healer, which after the first year, turned to once a fortnight, and then later, to once a month, and then finally to 'if you find you need someone to talk to, you know where I am," but he hadn't needed to, and so he didn't.

Life was good.

It was during a free period on Thursday when he was supposed to be either talking to confused students or grading essays or weeding the beds of thyme and lovage, that he took the bit of parchment out of his pocket and re-read it. 'It'll be good to see him again,' he thought. 

*

The Three Broomsticks was quiet. Only three bar stools were occupied, and four booths. Harry was in one of the booths, and looked up when Neville got close.

"Alright, Neville?" Harry asked when he saw him, and stood up as well.

"Yeah. Good to see you. It's been a while." Neville's mind was whirling with new information; Harry was a bit taller than before and much more muscular; his hair actually looked fixed for once and not a mess; he had on muggle clothes, jeans and jumper, that looked to fit him properly underneath a set of open robes in a dark charcoal color that looked too adult for his mental memory of Harry to align with.

"Yeah. I'll get the first round. Just a tick," Harry said, and he was darting off across the room and Neville was sitting down in the booth, and then Harry was back somehow carrying two pints while making two shot glasses hover before him. The shots landed gently on the table and Harry set the pints down, one in front of Neville and one on his side of the table as he slid into his seat. He pulled one of the shots towards him.

"Buttermakers. C'mon, then," he said, lifting the shot and nodding at Neville.

Neville grinned, grabbed the shot that was left behind, and tossed it back as Harry did the same, and they set their shot glasses down at the same time. Neville coughed a little, and took a sip from the pint glass and was surprised to find the sharp bite of whisky being soothed by the butterbeer.

"Not much for firewhisky, but what was that? Not Ogden's, I'm sure," he said, and took another sip of the butterbeer.

"Hah! No. It's a little distillery near Inverness, Muggle-made. They'll be rich in twenty years, I'm sure."

They sipped their beer and made small talk: the Scottish distillery, quidditch, Hogwarts. Two shots (and another pint) later, Neville squinted at Harry. "You look good, though, a lot better than I saw you last. Think I need a glass of water, actually. You know you don't have to get a bloke pissed to pull, right?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, sorry. Here," and he cast a somewhat tipsy sobering charm on the both of them, which was only half-effective and left Neville feeling slightly nauseated but not horrible. Neville took a sip of the beer before him to settle his stomach before he even thought of how counter-productive that might be, and then pushed it aside. Harry had already charmed two glasses of water to be more or less but not quite Perrier and sipped on his before a slice of lemon appeared amongst the ice cubes that had materialised as well. 

"When did you get bougie?" Neville asked.

Potter shrugged. "Didn't, really. But sparkling is really better if you're feeling a bit off, you know."

Neville scoffed and sipped the warm beer in front of him, then switched to his own water.

"You never did say what you were doing in Hogsmeade. On business?" he asked.

"Right, Garrick sends me up here two or three times a year. Hagrid collects unicorn hair from trees and brush in the Forbidden Forest, the bits that pulled out when they run through? So he sends me up here to retrieve them."

"That was Ollivander's owl, then?" Neville asked, remembering the haughty bird that had delivered his mail.

"I never got another one," Harry said quietly, nodding. Neville felt his cheeks heat up and wished he'd never brought up the subject of owls.

"You like it then? Learning to make wands?" he said, hoping the quick redirection would save the conversation.

"Oh, it's brilliant. I mean, it's quiet, right? And there's a lot to remember, especially when it comes to making repairs. I have to write everything down when a new wand is sold to someone. You know he can just remember off the top of his head every single wand he's ever sold, and who it went to, and the type of wood and core, and everything! I don't know how he does it. Hermione would probably approve of the way I file all my notes away," Harry laughed. He took a drink of his water and looked over at Neville with a shrewd expression that seemed almost Slytherin to Neville. "You know I didn't invite you out to try to do anything, right? I mean, that was all a long time ago, and so much has changed since then. I wasn't expecting anything."

"I know, Harry. I wasn't expecting anything like that, either," and he was glad that it was somewhat dim in the bar, because he was certain his ears must be bright red and his cheeks didn't feel far from it.

Harry just nodded, took a breath, looked around the nearly empty bar, and said, "Still. If you're up for it? I took a room upstairs."

Neville swallowed the mouthful of water that had threatened to choke him. "Yeah?" he asked and wanted to cringe by how it tried to squeak.

"Yeah."

*

"We never really talked about it, but sorry about that other time. Last time, I mean. I was a right berk; didn't have the first clue what I was doing," Neville said, voice muffled as he pulled his jumper over his head. The room was dim, and when he glanced over to Harry, the shorter man had his shoes and socks off already and was making short work of his shirt and jeans. Neville's fingers fumbled a little in his his hurry to catch up.

"It's fine. Makes for a funny story to tell," Harry said, pulling the covers back on the bed and sliding onto it to rest his back against the headboard.

"Harry! You-"

"Relax, Nev, I'd never," he said, laughing. "Just said my first was nice and a little awkward like they usually are, and with someone I trusted."

"Oh," Neville said, climbing onto the bed into a kneeling position and sitting back against his heels. "So who was it, then?"

Harry stared at him incredulously and then slung a pillow at him. "You, you berk!" he said, and Neville grabbed the pillow and threw it back before wrestling him down onto the bed so that he was sitting on Harry's thighs and had pinned his shoulders down.

"Just wasn't sure if it counted," he said, leaning down to give him a quick kiss, before he pulled away and slid off to sit back up on his side of the bed. "It did for me, but I didn't want to assume."

"Yeah, it did," Harry said quietly. 

"You know, all things considered and there being several years between then and now, we might have partners in common?" 

"What? Alright for me to kiss and tell now, but not if it was about you?" Harry asked, rolling over onto his side to look at Neville. Neville rolled over as well and let his eyes roam over the familiar face and chest that had filled out in the interval, the muscles that hadn't been nearly so developed when they were still at school or just past it, the angles that were more well-defined and masculine.

"I don't want details, I just wondered is all. Who was next after me?"

Harry huffed. "Someone who taught me a few handy spells, for one thing," Harry reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his wand, then cast _mungo internum_ and _protego insu_ quietly before putting his wand back on the table. 

"He taught you those, but not _patesco_ or _lubrico_?" Neville chuckled, stroking his hand up Harry's arm from elbow to shoulder.

"He taught me those as well, but after a couple of Muggles, I kind of developed a preference," Harry said, twisting his head a little so that his neck cracked.

"Muggles, huh? So who was this wizard with so many sex spells in his repertoire?"

"Fine! George, if you must know."

"Weasley? Huh. I figured if anyone in that family was bent, it would Charlie," Neville mused. "He's very fit and you never hear of him with anyone."

"Charlie... doesn't fancy either way, and doesn't seem to be fussed about even companionship, for that matter. Too focused on his dragons... and not like that, you perv!" he said, mock punching at Neville's shoulder as Neville waggled his eyebrows. "Molly's come to accept it that he won't give her grandbabies, and anyhow Bill and Ron seem to have that covered. George... it was only twice, and I think he likes women better, anyhow, less of the whole gay drama that way."

"Mmm, yeah, I can see that. So muggles?"

"Ugh, alright, fine. After George, two muggle blokes, a muggle woman, and a three month long relationship with a wizard that was a complete disaster, and then another muggle bloke. And Ginny, a few times scattered in between, but I haven't seen her in two years."

"I'm going to leave the fact that you've shagged not one, but two Weasleys, completely aside. Who was the other wizard?"

Harry mumbled and Neville strained to hear him. "C'mon, just say it. I'll run through my list in a moment."

"He has a list, he says. A bloody list of conquests. Fine, it was Lee, and it was a trainwreck that shouldn't have lasted more than a weekend but somehow went almost three months, and I'd rather not talk about it. And you can't twit me about Ginny, either, since you don't even fancy women at all."

"I have, actually."

"Have what?"

"Fancied a witch. Just one, and nothing came of it, and so I don't even really know if I liked her quite like that, or if I just liked how I felt when I was around her. She was a good friend, and that was a few years ago. Anyhow, you, and Seamus for awhile, and a few muggles like you. And I've had an on again off again with a wizard who shall remain nameless, because he's not out and we're not exclusive."

"Seamus? Really?"

"Lee? Really?"

"Right, fair enough."

They were quiet for a time, looking at each other in the dim room with the sounds of the quietly winding-down bar drifting through the floorboards. Occasionally there was the tinkle of a bell as someone left a nice tip, or a rumble of conversation as it grew a little heated. 

"Sorry, think I spoiled the mood."

"Nah," Harry said, and Neville was pleased by the way his grin softened his face, by the way he was inching closer, and Neville slid his hand and then his arm around Harry's waist and drew him in against his body. "We always did better when we didn't talk that much, anyways, you know," Harry said, cupping his hand against the back of Neville's neck. "When it was something quiet in the dark."

The kiss was quiet and in the dark, too, Neville thought, something soft and warm and he wasn't sure why he felt a little surprised by it, because that's how it almost always had been with Harry. It was comfortable like your favorite slippers, like sliding into a warm bath, like a bowl of soup on a rainy-sleety winter day, and Neville slid his tongue into Harry's mouth with the ease of familiarity that he imagined couples might have when they'd been together most of their lives, and that made sense too, in the back of his mind that would never stop thinking even when he was trying so very hard not to think, it made sense that Harry would feel familiar against his chest and under his hands, a comfortable warmth that held none of the fire that he thought he should expect when going to bed with someone. It was just Harry, with his skin that always seemed a little too elastic under his fingertips as he stroked up his back, just Harry, with the scars and now with hair dusted around his nipples and in the middle of his chest, just Harry, who was kissing him just as he'd always kissed him: a little more tongue than he'd usually want, but endearing for the eagerness, stoking warmth in his groin with each slide of his lips and he was tilting his pelvis against Neville's and it was so good. 

"Get them off," he mumbled, kissing along Harry's shoulder and collarbone and pushing against the waistband of Harry's pants. There was a small disturbance under the covers as Harry pulled them down and kicked them somewhere towards the foot of the bed, and Neville did the same with his, and they were kissing again, and then Harry was kissing and sucking down Neville's neck and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself because he was more turned on than he'd like to admit.

"So Muggle prep? Do you have any...?" he asked.

"No, didn't think that far ahead. Can you split the difference?"

It took Neville a moment for his brain to catch up to what Harry had asked, but then he nodded against Harry's shoulder and slid further down in the bed, grasping Harry's hip and rolling him so that Harry's back was against his chest. Neville managed an _accio_ to summon his wand and cast _lubrico_ both at Harry's hip and his own hand, then tucked the wand under his pillow. Harry pressed his back against Neville's chest and then lifted his top leg so that his knee was tucked up towards his chest.

"It should have been like this last time," Neville whispered against Harry's shoulder as his slickened hand quested between Harry's legs. He gave Harry's cock a firm squeeze, a couple of lazy strokes, then slid back to gently caress his bollocks, then further to seek the dark heat behind, sliding his slippery hand along and back, forward and withdrawing again, back and forth until the furled entrance was fluttering and clenching under his fingers and he pressed the tip of his middle finger inwards, just a little. He felt the spasm of muscles and withdrew, sliding his fingers across and barely in once more, and again, and then pressed again and slid in, past the first, past the second ring, and Harry gasped and he pressed his lips against Harry's neck and sucked, moving his finger in and out, each time a little further, and while he was kissing Harry's neck and shoulder, thought he could tell the exact moment that Harry relaxed and pressed in further, turning his hand palm-out so that the pad of his finger could seek the gland, and when he felt that walnut-like swelling, was gratified to hear Harry moan rather than hiss in discomfort.

He gripped his wand under the pillow left-handed, cast another _lubrico_, goofy-footed though it was, and the next time he pulled his finger almost out of Harry, followed it back with both the middle and index fingers, finding the spot again and again until Harry was breathing hard and sweating against him, until he was making little breathy noises that had almost completely drowned out every coherent thought in Neville's head, and he cast a third time and shifted so that his hips were directly behind Harry and his cock was so hard and slippery with pre-come and spelled lube that he thought he might come just from proximity alone, but he slowly slid his fingers free and used them to press into Harry instead.

Slowly, so slowly, just half the head at first because he knew he was bigger than his two fingers but he couldn't wait anymore, and he pressed in, every muscle from his shoulders to the tops of his thighs tense with it, not wanting to drive forward, nose full of the cedar and citrus of Harry's shampoo and the dark musk of sex, and Harry was pushing back towards him and the head of his cock was in and he was gripping Hary's hip but and trying to stay still but Harry was _still pushing__ back._

"Please... please, Nev."

And who was Neville to say no, when he was asking like that? His hips rocked forwards, rocked into Harry's tight heat once, twice, three times, and on the fourth he was seated as deeply as he could be and it was bliss, it was too good, he pulled back and drove in again and Harry moaned and he did it again to hear that sound once more, and then his brain stopped working beyond the sensory input, and all he could register was tight heat and the feel of Harry pulled tight against his chest and at some point Harry had managed to turn enough in his arms that they could kiss, even it was an awkward angle, and his tongue was in Harry's mouth and his cock was moving in Harry and he had Harry's cock in his hand, _in his hand_, and he was coming so hard that sparks were all he could see behind his closed eyelids and slick warmth was pouring over his fingers and then Harry was casting _aguamenti_ and slipping away from him and he felt bereft from the loss.

Sometime later, Neville came back to himself with Harry's head resting in the crook of his shoulder. There was a singed scent in the air, eddying around in the faint cold breeze from the window which had been raised just a little. Neville squeezed Harry a little closer, then let go and sat up a bit.

"Can you cast a _reparo_ or something on the pillowcase? Only you caught it on fire with your wand, and I don't fancy being blacklisted, and my charm didn't work," Harry said, sitting up as well and running his fingers through his hair, which didn't really do much to tidy it.

"Oh," Neville said, looking at the pillowslip and turning it over to see the damage. He cast reparo but it didn't remove all the damage, nor the scent of burnt feathers from the pillow it covered. "I'll pay to replace it."

"Nah," Harry chuckled. "Never bother; I'll take care of it. D'you want anything? Glass of water, or anything?"

"I'm good, thanks." Neville settled back down in the bed. "Alright if I stay, or should I make plans to head back to the castle now?"

"You're welcome as long as you like."

They snuggled back down together in the bed, and drowsed in the way that only the extremely trusting can. Hands wandered, stroking along sides and backs, up and down arms. Soft, chaste kisses were given. Blankets were shared. They slept, but only lightly. Not because they couldn't trust to sleep deep, but because they trusted enough to wake if the other had need.

Sometime before dawn, they were both awake again. It took a moment for Neville to speak.

"You know this isn't something we should do much more, right? We're not suited. I'll be there for you, but did y'ever?...."

"Yeah, I've known that, probably since the start, Nev. We're just... it's like, normal, or something," he shrugged.

"Right. And you've never found anyone you wanted to be with long-term."

"Not really, no."

"Alright. So I want you to give Draco a chance, when you see each other. He's not like he was in school, not even like he was three years ago. Just give him a chance, and don't see him as a Slytherin to be hated. Can you do that?"

"Malfoy?!!"

"Yes, Malfoy," and Neville's tone brooked no argument and no interference.

"I mean... I can try, because you asked."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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